Pyrrhic
by multiplicities
Summary: What's so special about a game that consists solely of getting a ball from one side of the field to another? Sena plays anyway.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eyeshield 21.

* * *

"Hey Sena, ready for the game?"

Kobayakawa Sena, running back for Notre Dame, nodded to the friendly-looking player who had called. He didn't protest the casual use of his first name; it's not as if his teammate had any idea of Japanese customs, anyway.

He didn't even know the guy's name.

That wasn't so surprising, though. He didn't know any of their names.

Sena changed into his jersey, pulling the uniform over his head. It fit perfectly, this new green uniform. He always thought of it that way: his _new_ uniform. It was better this way, though. He had already stopped wearing red.

He still kept a red jersey somewhere in his closet. It was shoved into the very back so that he would never have to see it.

It wouldn't fit him anymore. Sena knew that he had grown bigger, though he was still amazed sometimes to flex a bicep and actually see muscles. The first time he discovered that, he'd stood in front of a mirror for hours, grinning sheepishly at his own reflection.

That seemed like such a long time ago now.

This new uniform had a number emblazoned on it – 21. Sena would always be number 21.

His eyes traced the rows of other uniforms along the wall, all for his team. One of the uniforms for substitute players caught his eye because he still remembered its number.

53.

53, 52, 51.

51 was Juumonji, of course.

Funny how he still recalled those numbers, after all this time. Not that he could say with absolute confidence the numbers on the uniforms of any of his current teammates.

Juumonji…

Sena had gone to see him, but only once.

Juumonji had been in an office, surrounded by books with the place giving off a crisp, pristine air. Sena had needed to make an appointment to meet with him, though he'd had to call over and over before Juumonji had finally capitulated and agreed to see him.

He didn't think he had ever seen Juumonji in a suit before. Hiruma would probably have cackled at the sight.

Sena wasn't Hiruma. And it wasn't funny.

Juumonji's hair had also started to recede from the middle of his head. Sena could see to the spots between the hair strands Juumonji had combed over the bald patch.

It really wasn't funny at all.

Juumonji had asked Sena to get on with it if this wasn't connected to his work. Sena thought of the time Juumonji had pledged to clear a path for Sena to run, eyes so determined it had taken Sena's breath away.

So he told Juumonji that he was a coward for running away. Because Juumonji wasn't the best, would never be the best, but Sena had always believed in hard work. It was Sena's job to run, anyway, and Sena ran to reach a goal. Because Juumonji was a fool for giving up on the game he loved and he'd regret leaving for the rest of his life.

He'd stopped ranting, noticing that his hands had balled into fists – though Juumonji could probably still beat him up if he ever caught him – and his entire body was trembling. It wasn't like him to criticize someone else, but Juumonji could have been made of stone.

Juumonji hadn't gotten angry. His face showed no signs of emotion, and his eyes still looked dead.

Sena wished that he could be frightening again, because even a petty bully would be better than _this_.

He told Sena, calmly enough to make it seem as though he believed it, that football was just a game. That he had better things to do with his life, such as find a real job, raise a family…

Sena hadn't done any of those things. Not really, and he felt like a kid again.

Sena left, because there didn't seem like there was any more to say. If this was what Juumonji had chosen, then Sena certainly couldn't stop him.

Unlike in most offices, there were no photos of Juumonji's family or friends cluttering the desk or hanging from the walls. There wasn't much of anything at all in there.

Before he'd left, Sena had asked just one question, because he'd been curious.

He'd asked what happened to the rest of the Huh-huh Brothers. Maybe that was why Juumonji, even without the suit and the thinning hair combed pathetically over his head, had looked wrong. Sena couldn't remember a time when he hadn't seen all three of them together.

Toganou and Kuroki certainly wouldn't fit into this sterile office. But then, Sena thought that Juumonji didn't fit in there either.

He almost closed the door and left, thinking that Juumonji had no answer. Then Juumonji had called after him.

He'd said that if there was one thing he regretted, it was ever playing football.

Sena turned away from the green uniform, numbered 53. It wasn't used often, anyway. Few regular players missed games at all. Sena himself had never missed a single game even if he was sick because when he ran, he almost felt alive again.

Agon, who played for another team Sena couldn't remember the name of, regularly missed games or showed up late.

He always showed up when his team was playing Notre Dame.

It was both flattering and frightening to Sena, who knew that Agon showed up for him. The way his eyes burned whenever he looked at Sena made his public statement about playing football for a quick buck and a proving everyone else trash a lie.

People tended to either worship him or despise him, Sena had noticed. His team seemed to do both.

Agon had never spoken to Sena, in or out of football. He just stared at him outside of the field and tried to stop Sena with uncalled-for enthusiasm in the field.

Sena still had bruises from the last time he'd played Agon. The cracked collarbone he'd gotten once also ensured that Sena ran slightly faster than usual when Agon chased him.

Sena bent down to pull his spikes on. He smiled faintly. He was still the best at running, though he'd give anything for someone else to challenge him at running again.

Shin had been an incredible runner. The fastest linebacker that Sena had ever seen before Japan or after it.

Until he wasn't.

Sena had heard about the accident. Apparently Shin had been jogging – a thought that made him feel nostalgic – when he'd seen some random passerby about to get crushed under falling construction material.

Shin had protected the person, being fast enough and strong enough to push the other to safety.

He hadn't gotten to safety. His back had been crushed under the weight.

Shin would never run, strong as the immovable goal that Sena had always strived to reach, on the field and tackle Sena again. Shin would never make Sena feel as though his ribs had caved in, or as excited as he did when Shin found a new technique or had gotten even better.

Shin would never even stand up from his wheelchair anymore.

Sena refused to visit Shin. He didn't want to see his hero fall – as long as he didn't see Shin with his irrevocably broken spine, then he'd remember the Shin he worshipped.

If Sena had one regret, then it was that Shin had protected someone else at the expense of his own body. He wished that the person had died instead, though Sena would never admit this wish aloud.

Shin had always done what was right.

Sena finished putting on his shoes. Upon catching the eyes of another player, he smiled back. At first when he'd arrived in America, he didn't know any English. It had been easier to nod and smile when he heard his own name called.

He honestly had tried to remember the names of people who were introduced to him, but their names faded from his mind almost the moment they were pronounced.

He'd never really bothered learning much English. He knew the basics, and the manager was always willing to speak for him during interviews.

The only thing he was in America to do was play football. Nothing else.

He could, however, make out the cheers outside. They went something like, "Go, Notre Dame, go!"

The cheer was completely unoriginal and any other school's name could have been substituted in without making a single bit of difference.

Suzuna's cheers had been somewhat creative, not to mention much more heartfelt.

Sena knew that there were many questions and rumors about the nature of his relationship with Suzuna.

Most of them were false. While Sena was living together with Suzuna, it was more for convenience than anything else. In this foreign land, Sena enjoyed being able to return after work to a chirpy "Welcome home!"

Looking at Suzuna hurt, too, and Sena didn't know whether to be grateful or not for the fact that Suzuna had never come to cheer him at one of his games. On the whole, he decided to be grateful. He'd never broached the subject with her.

He didn't want to talk to Suzuna about football.

The football-oriented press tended to make much out of the fact that Sena lived with a woman that he was not married to and that she had never attended any of his games.

Even though they were living together, it was more for convenience than anything else. Sena had never touched Suzuna, though he thought sometimes that she wanted him to.

Sena was done with the majority of his uniform. The only thing left was his eyeshield.

He was Eyeshield 21. This would never change unless someone else appeared before him and won.

Sena wished for a challenger sometimes. Someone to topple him from his throne.

Everything had started with the eyeshield, and the eyeshield had started with Hiruma.

Hiruma was belonged to football, symbolized the game in a way that Sena never had, and simply _was_ football. Sena could never think of Hiruma without football or football without Hiruma.

Except football had told Hiruma that he wasn't good enough.

Hiruma didn't have the legs to outstrip others, nor did he have the muscles to push others. His throwing ability was excellent, but there were others who had the same abilities. The only thing that made Hiruma special was his mind – no one else was, could ever be, Hiruma's equal in trick plays.

It hadn't been enough. Hiruma had tried every team and only met with refusal after refusal.

Sena hated it, those constant rejections.

It was strange that Hiruma was willing to blackmail and lie his way into anything else except for football. Only this game made him determined to use only his body to find a way in.

Sena hated that.

But then Hiruma had stopped applying.

Sena had gone to see him once, because it had never crossed his mind that Hiruma could give up on football.

He hadn't even had time to say hello.

Hiruma had said clearly, distinctly, "Shut up," before Sena could do anything but walk in.

"Hiru-," he remembered protesting weakly, uselessly.

"_Shut_. _Up_," Hiruma had repeated, cocking a gun and pointing it towards Sena.

It was a scene that had happened often before, Hiruma grinning crazily and showing his mouthful of filed teeth while shooting at a terrified Sena.

Hiruma wasn't grinning this time.

Maybe it was the lack of profanity, because Hiruma didn't feel like Hiruma to Sena.

Sena left immediately, only brushing by Mamori as she headed in, face weary.

She hadn't even looked at him, as focused as she was on Hiruma. Sena couldn't grudge Hiruma Mamori's attention; after all, Mamori had always been best at tending to the wounded.

Sena had wondered when Hiruma had started to hate football.

Sena stretched and headed in to play another game against another team whose name he wouldn't remember.

All those things that had seemed so important – teamwork, friendship, throwing someone into the air – none of that mattered anymore because it didn't exist in Sena's world.

The only thing he could do was run – and win.

After the game, Sena started to head home and was stopped by Monta, of all people. Sena could still recognize the ever-present banana and the bandaged nose. Monta still looked like a monkey, too.

He'd smiled happily at Sena and told him excitedly, in Japanese, "Sena, I'm in the NFL too! I'll be playing against you soon. You better not lose before we face each other!"

The people exiting stared at the crazy foreigner, jumping up and down. Sena just smiled back and congratulated Monta on getting in.

He didn't bother to say that he wouldn't be in the NFL for much longer.


End file.
